


Some Supernatural Shit

by SophinaBlackwood



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 13:25:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12984972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophinaBlackwood/pseuds/SophinaBlackwood
Summary: Lucky for him, Mustafa Ali has always wanted to know what goes on in the King of the Cruiersweights' head.





	Some Supernatural Shit

**Author's Note:**

> A silly thing. Enjoy!

“Reverse it. NOW.”

Mustafa struck a bead of spit from under his eye. “I can’t!” he said honestly, “This is some supernatural shit. It’s bigger than me, or even you, _King._ ”

“I don’t want you in my head,” Neville growled, shaking a finger at his brain. His hazel eyes were blazing with the same sort of corrupt anger that gained him the Cruiserweight Championship in the first place.

At his core, Mustafa felt a terrible ache. It was an ache that drove him do stupid things while around Neville. Terrible, wonderful things. “And what about what _I_ want?” Mustafa said, defiantly.

Neville’s lip twitched, opening his mouth to say something but paused. His gaze lowered below Mustafa’s neck.

_When your chest heaves like that.._

The words exploded in Mustafa’s mind, searing with lust.

Mustafa smirked, deliberately breathing harder. His blood had become electricity in his veins, charged by the exhilaration of agitating the King’s foul temper. “Does my very existence affect you this much, Neville?”

“Stop it,” Neville shook his head vehemently, hand closing into a fist. A threat. _I can’t bear it._ Mustafa heard his voice again, though Neville’s lips were pursed into a thin line, unmoving.

 _You’re too much_.

“Tell me what you want to do to me.” Despite Mustafa’s insolent question, his tone was near pleading. Sweat slicked down the back of his neck in anticipation, soaking the collar of his gear.

 _I want to fuck you in the ring,_ Neville thought hungrily. _So every time you wrestle you’ll remember where I bounced you on my cock against the turnbuckle; where I buggered you on the edge of the apron; where I sucked you off, your body perfectly sprawled out on the announce desk._

Delirium pulsed through Mustafa so intensely, his knees nearly buckled. “Oh, _god,_ yes.” It wasn’t just that he could hear Neville’s inner monologue, he could _feel_ the King’s emotions as if they were one and the same. In his hazy arousal, Mustafa barely had time to register Neville grabbing his hair until it tore at his scalp painfully- perfectly. “ _Do it._ ”

“I thought I told you to get out of my head,” Neville said lowly. He was crouching down now, holding Mustafa’s face close enough for their beards to graze. Mustafa reached out blindly to stabilize himself, and found Neville’s thighs. The King’s breath hitched and Mustafa’s stomach twisted with desire. _Ah. Ah, fuck,_ Neville thought desperately.

“But your head makes such wonderful sounds,” Mustafa laughed breathlessly. “And you want to fuck me in the ring.”

Neville shuddered, as if Mustafa repeating his inner thoughts made the bizarre phenomenon they were experiencing real. The thing was, Mustafa had been fantasising about being fucked by the King for _months._ How could he not, when someone who so perfectly equalled his passion between the ropes would likely rival his intensity beneath the sheets. There was an undeniable, unequivocal chemistry between them. None too often had Mustafa met an opponent like him, in the Cruiserweight division or his entire career. He had become, quite frankly, _obsessed_ with Neville from the first second they ever locked up.

 _How are you this fuckin’ beautiful?_ Neville interrupted Mustafa’s own thoughts, staring desperately at the Prince as if he were a stranger.

“Thank you,” Mustafa said, "You're quite handsome yourself." A lazy grin spreading across his face as he stared out at Neville through the hair spilling over his forehead. He let out a sudden small yelp as Neville grasped his hair tighter.

“I’m warnin’ you,” Neville growled. “Or I’ll-”

“You’ll what? Fuck me in the ring?”

“Cheeky cretin.”

Caught up in the moment, Mustafa leaning in and kissed Neville slowly on the corner of his mouth. Neville paused, apparently caught off guard by the bold gesture. After a few cold seconds, he returned the gesture, lips rough and pliant, Mustafa’s name on his mind.

Neville pressed him against the edge of a table, and Mustafa felt the surface beneath him, mind too drunk with pleasure to playfully resist. Neville straddled him, their erections meeting through fabric, causing them both to exclaim in tandem bliss. Neville traced kisses down Mustafa’s beard, then dug his teeth into the flesh of his neck. Mustafa groaned loudly, muscles seizing.

 _Does this feel good to you?_ Neville wondered and Mustafa’s eyelids fluttered at the realisation that the King actually cared about his pleasure. There was something incredibly moving about the way Neville held him. Like he was determined to drown Mustafa with so much satisfaction that he would never meet another man who could reach such levels of erotic perfectionism.

“Yes,” Mustafa affirmed. Neville wrapped his fingers around Mustafa's hipbone tightly, massaging in small circles as if he wanted to memorise the anatomy.

“Do y-” Neville started a sentence but cut off abruptly, suddenly finding the wall more interesting to look at.

“Hmm?” Mustafa pressed, overcome with the need to know.

 _Do you think about this?_ Neville thought, humiliated. _Fuck, that was daft._

Mustafa smirked, reaching down to take one of Neville’s broad, powerful hands, and smothered the extremity against his own cheek. “It haunts me,” Mustafa whispered, taking one of Neville’s fingers in his mouth, sucking on it. Neville stared, practically agog, his chest rising and falling quickly.

_Jesus._

Mustafa bit down as hard as he could, meeting Neville’s eye with a fierce passion as the King yanked his hand back.

“OW,” Neville hissed, observing the teeth marks on his fingers, “I’ll get you for that.”

“Please do,” Mustafa grinned, reaching up to thread his fingers through Neville’s mane. “I am but a lowly slug, in need of punishment from his King of the Cruiserweights.”

_Jesus Christ, Ali._

“What?!” Mustafa teased, “I thought you’d like that?”

 _I do._ Neville snapped Mustafa’s belt off, tossing it aside. He hastily started to work on removing the black, white and gold catsuit, leaving him exposed and agonizing for more. _Oh god. Oh my god_. The King’s internal praise made pride swell in Mustafa’s chest.

“You’re perfect,” Neville said, with real words.

Mustafa had barely a second to process Neville’s real words as the King rolled him onto his stomach. He lay his taut muscles against the curve of Mustafa’s back, all his weight pressed down for a moment as the squirt of a bottle sounded off in his blindspot.

 _I can’t believe this is happening._ Neville marvelled, and Mustafa snickered. His asscheek burned suddenly, the victim of a punishing spank. Mustafa’s yelp melted into a pleasurable groan and his whole body began to tingle desperately. _Better. His body looks proper fit like that._

Mustafa would’ve laughed at that description, if a slick finger hadn’t pushed up into his asshole. All he could do was gasp for air as if he had broken the surface of water. Actually, not a bad idea. Maybe he could suffocate between Neville’s thighs.

 _I’m going to fuck Mustafa Ali._ Neville paused. _Shit, you heard that, didn't you?_

“Yes, you are,” Mustafa said, body shuddering around the second finger now working his ass. “You’re going to ravage me.”

Neville scooped his free hand around Mustafa’s neck, erection groubding on the back of Mustafa’s thigh. The Prince whimpered softly, lack of oxygen relaxing his backside. He was ready for this. He’d been waiting for this for a long time.

Mustafa cried out when Neville pushed inside him- though it was not a cry of pain, but of a man overjoyed. A man lost in an ocean of warmth and ecstasy. A man turning away from the light, only to find a sun hidden in the depths of the darkness.

_Fuck, that’s incredible. You feel incredible. You’re incredible… No, I need to see you._

Neville rearranged Mustafa’s pliant form so they could be face to face. “Beautiful boy,” Neville crooned, lips to cheek. Mustafa’s heart panged wildly, his mind melting- forfeiting completely to the sensation of Neville, his King, thickly and fully seated within him. Meanwhile Neville seemed as if he was having trouble clinging onto his own sanity.

_You’ll always be my beautiful boy. Won’t you, Mustafa?_

“Yes,” Mustafa bit out, blushing on top of his already flushed complexion. “Oh, god, always. Yes, yes- _harder!_ ”

A generous King, Neville threaded his fingers through Mustafa’s floppy hair and made the Prince scream in divine rapture.


End file.
